This is my legend
by tyrannosaurus lex. luthor
Summary: What? What do you mean you've never heard of me? I'm Olos-Nah, galaxy renound fighterpilot, The Republic's best sharpshooter, number one weakness of all things women—of course you've heard of me! No? Never? Well then, gather 'round, babes and gentlemen—time for you to know my legend. From my days tracking down a notorious thief to killing a crime lord. This is my story. My legend.


Author's Note: Sup people's! Me and my fam just settled into Texas, so I'm back at updating! Rejoice!

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><p>Sweet balls of fire!<p>

I made a sharp, possibly illegal U-turn to dodge the two torpedos that had been been fired at me, the projectiles narrowly missing my beautiful ship by mere feet.

It's amazing how people leave out details when they want something. This wasn't in the information. Sure, I knew there was a battle going on, but no one told me how _big_ it was. I thought it was just a small rebellion, not a full scale _war_. Cruisers, flagships, star fighters, you name it.

This star fighter seemed to be taking special interest in me for no apparent reason. I was just delivering some goods to the planet, sure they were unregistered, but they didn't even contact me for any confirmation. They could have at least asked for my starship licence before trying to blow me to smithereens.

I could have taken him easily under normal circumstances, with my hands tied behind my back even. I lived and breathed piloting, the galaxy's best pilots were my personal bitches—both figuratively _and_ literally. However, there was little even I could do at this point. Not without playing bumper-ships with a couple of very close cruiser's or taking a cannon shot up my ass. It wasn't until two starfighters swooped down in front of me that I saw my opportunity. The first was a ship had an insignia I didn't recognize, and the pilot was obviously having the time of his life firing at his target. The second ship was the target, a republic fighter that seemed to have the same troubles as me.

I smirked, and idea forming in my head. I flew close to a cruisers main canon and slowed down a bit, waiting, waiting for the ship behind me to finish cooling down the canons and shoot a another volley of blaster fire. At the same time the cruiser also fired a shot. Sweet.

I did the galaxy's most awesomestly cool—so awesome it deserved a triple positive— barrel role and watched as the blaster bolts just barely missed by inches, sailed past me and hit the fighter in front of me. At the same time, the cruiser's canon hit the ship tailing me, sending it spiraling out of control until it blew up behind me. Dear god almighty I'm badass.

When I finally arrived on the surface, I opened the hatch and strutted down the ramp to find someone waiting for me. _Just one man_. Now, I wasn't expecting a party—maybe—but they could have at least added a couple of droids and a welcome mat. Even a group of thugs ready to double-cross me would have been better. But, nope.

No appreciation.

"Can't believe you made it through that separatist shooting gallery captain. Your ship isn't even scratched. Takes guts landing in the middle of a battlefield."

Ok, a bit of appreciation.

I nodded, feeling a quick boost to my ego from the praise. "Yeah, I don't like anything touching my ship—especially blaster bolts. So I don't."

He cocked his head. "Don't what?"

"Let them touch my ship." He quirked a brow, a look of confusion evident on his face. I scowled. My reputation obviously didn't proceed me in these parts. I hoped he would just pass it off as I'm just that good because _fuck_, I really _am_ just that good. I once got in a dog fight with three of the empire's best pilots—and one poor unsuspecting republic sap—and took them all down in five minutes. Without a scratch. I wasn't in a gloating mood though—sorta. I had people see, places to go, women to screw. Being a devilishly handsome Ace pilot meant I was a busy man. "So, do you mind telling me why someone tried shoot bolts and missiles up my ass? I'm sorta on a tight schedule."

The man turned around a beckoned me to follow him. I shrugged and followed suit. I didn't know this man, but he was at the drop off point, and he reminded me a lot of myself. He seemed to carry that confidents, that knowledge that he was a badass. "The separatists are raiding this village, attacking anyone who isn't one of them. The name's Skavak by the way. I'm picking up those blasters in your cargo hold. Excuse the rush, but uh, I've gotta get out of here quick. This village used to be safe, but the separatists are taking over. If I were you, I'd haul jets as soon as we're done."

I wasn't exactly one for arguing. "As soon as this is done, the better."

"Sounds like the bombing is getting closer. The separatists will be on top of us any minute. Here's your payment for making this run, Captain. Soon as I have those blasters—you'll be free to fly—."

"Skavak, we have a big problem. Separatists took over the local defense canon!"

The fuck? I turned around to find a man, hunched over clutching his stomach as he gasped for breath from the obviously long distance he just came from. When did he get there.

Skavak shook his head, clearly confused and slightly surprised. "Woah woah woah, slow down Corso! What are you talking about?"

"They deployed some kinda remote control targeting stations. Hijacked the canon's targeting computer. Damn separatists just destroyed an incoming republic transport. With those remote control stations, the separatists can override the air defense canon's computer, turn that fire power on us any time they want."

Skavak grimaced, turning to me. That's odd. Most people's day brightened when they saw my handsome face, or my chiseled body, or—in bed—my astounding coc—"That's bad news Captain." That snapped me out of my self praising thoughts. I never liked bad news... "The separatists will blast you out of the sky even if you think about taking off."

I wasn't worried. They wouldn't be able to touch me, I could dodge those defenses with my eyes closed, so it wasn't my problem. But then I felt this tingly sensation shoot up my spine, and I instantly knew something was wrong. "Hold on, my Spacer Sense is tingling."

They both looked at each other, then back at me, bewildered. "Your _what_?"

I sighed. It was always hard to explain this. "My Spacer Sense. It's like this sixth sense I have that warns me whenever my ship is in danger."

Skavak's eyes widened a bit, and Corso raised a brow. "You mean your force sensitive?"

I shook my head no. "Naw, I have about as many midi-chlorians as my grandmother's galaxy famous nerf stew." And granny never even made nerf stew...

I never quite understood it, dear viewer, but hey, that ship was my life. _The Broken Record_ is it's name. Because it was nothing more than garbage, less then a piece nerf shit when I found it that fateful day in an old junkyard. Everyone called me insane, that I was wasting my life, but I saw something in that heap of scrappity-crap-crap. I loved it, and restored it, made it better than it was before even. They say a man's starship is an extension of his ego. And I had a pretty massive ego, so I guess you could say I knew my ego was in danger. I figured that maybe the air defenses were the cause of my distress, so I decided fix their little problem.

I also decided to charge extra for my brave and daring heroics.

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><p>"I'll bring it back, I swear!" I reassured the Republic Sergeant as I took off on the speeder—his speeder—that I hotwired. It was a lie of course, Republic Issue Speeders were very popular on the black market...<p>

My Spacer Sense tingled again for some unknown reason, and a realization dawned on me. I never got my credits. Corso had come in right when Skavak was handing them to me. If he really meant to pay me, he wouldn't have stuffed them in his pocket. I made a mental note to keep an eye on Skavak.

When I got to my destination, was delighted to know that most of my work was done for me. Most of the guards placed at the Control Stations were all dead, the remnant were in a fire fight with a lone Commando. It's been said that a Smuggler's best friend is luck. How true that is. As the Commando continued to fight the good fight, I cheated, allowing him to fight my battles while I set to work disabling the stations and then running away as soon as I was noticed. Although, now that I think about it, It'd sound a lot better if I called it teamwork instead of cheating. Isn't teamwork grand?

Finally, I made my way into the building with the targeting computer. It was a small home, the downstairs littered with antiques and and trinkets and two guards—

Nope.

I whipped out my pistol and fired a couple of rounds at the first separatist's head. His helmet made the blasts no lethal—it wasn't exactly the galaxy's most powerful pistol—but the force of the shot was enough to knock him back, and he'd definitely wake up with a head splitting migrane.

For the second I took a frag grenade from the side of my belt and lobbed it at her. "Here, catch!" It impacted her helmet with a metallic thwack and bounced off. To my surprise, the blow disoriented her enough for her to actually catch it. She shook her head and gathered her bearings. When she looked down at the object in her hand, her brain started working again and she tried to throw it back at me. Too late, I was already bolting up the staircase. The grenade went of as soon as I was halfway up. Poor, poor bitch. Hopefully there wasn't a gorgeous woman under that armor. It'd be such a waste.

When I reached the second level, I quickly walked to the computer, typing madly on the keyboard, trying to get back to my ship as soon as possible. Unfortunately, computers were in no way my specialty. I tried as many times as I could to hack into the system, but when getting lucky apparently wouldn't suffice, I gave up and took out my pistol.

BAM!

Sparks flew, smoke wafted up into the air and soon the broken computer screen showed signs of the targeting going back to normal. I smirked, folding my arms of my chest as I stood back an reviewed my handiwork. It made absolutely no sense how that worked out and I knew it. Yes I'm badass, but I'm not afraid to admit that most of my success is due to sheer luck.

My mini-holocom buzzed, and I accepted my incoming call to find the 3D image of Corso. I heard blaster fire and explosions and the only thing I could think about was my ship. "Captain, that you? It's Corso. We've got trouble back at the hangar."

"Is my ship alright?" Call me selfish all you want, dear viewer, but I only went on that shitty planet for cash in the first place. Don't give me that look—I didn't owe Corso anything.

"For now, but maybe not for long." Separatists are busting in the hangar, we're giving them a warm welcome but we could use a—"

Nope. "Solve your own problems."

Stop looking at me like that... You viewers are a moral bunch. Shoulda told this story to someone else.

"_Captain, if we die your ship is on the line!" _Guy knew how to appeal to my better judgement. Smart man.

_"_Ok ok, fine."

He turned around to face, I guessed, Skavak._ "Skavak, get over here and help me seal this hangar door. Skavak? What are you—"_

The connection went dead, and my Spacer Sense went off again. I had no idea why, dear reader, but I knew that I needed get back to my ship as fast as possible.

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><p>Author's Note: Yeah, he's got a pretty big ego. Don't worry, my friends, it will be taken down a few pegs in the next chapter, that I guarantee!<p> 


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